In Search of Crimson

Does it send a chill down your spine to see a live Trojan on a snorting white horse gallop around the Los Angeles Coliseum when the University of Southern California scores a touchdown?

Isn't it cute when a leprachaun in green tights and a plaid vest scampers about during Notre Dame games? What about the excitement caused by the appearance of Georgia Tech's Rambling Wreck?

Well, I've always been fascinated by collegiate mascots. However, my interests have not been restricted to purely visual contact. Instead, I've tried to grab the bull by the horns, fur, scales, or whatever outer apparel various college symbols wear these days.

Wisconsin

I remember the first time I met a living, breathing and drinking college mascot....

It was New Year's Eve in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, and I thought I must have had a few too many beers because I noticed the guy next to me at the bar was wearing a set of furry pants, furry arms, and furry paws. What's more, he sported a bright red and white striped sweater beneath a head that distinctly resembled the taxidea taxis in my high school biology book.

It was both a relief and a thrill to realize I was in the presence of none other than "Bucky Badger," mascot of the University of Wisconsin. As time passed, Bucky and I grew to be close friends. In fact, Bucky and I went skydiving together during the week before he courageously carried off one of the University of Michigan's cheerleaders to the Wisconsin side of Camp Randall Stadium in retaliation for the loss the Wolverines were currently inflicting upon the diehard Badger fans.

Last winter in Providence, Rhode Island, I met another creature out of collegiate folklore and mythology. This time I had the good fortune to interview Duke's Blue Devil immediately after the Duke basketball team whipped Villanova earn a trip to the NCAA finals in St. Louis, Missouri.

The Blue Devil was barely discernible among the mass of blue-clothed Duke fanatics. Only his distinctive blue tail, blue trident, and blue face distinguished him. He was hardly the devil Milton would have us believe exists.

Yet there he stood, in his moment of glory, the prima facie representation of Blue Devilirium. The power he wielded, the spirits he evoked (and emitted), symbolized the collegiate "thrill of victory, and agony of hangovers."

But why do I dwell on such faraway myths and legends? What significance do my experiences have for Cambridge-bound undergraduates? Only this!

Last summer, the week before Harvard commencement, I attended a wedding in North Carolina. At the bachelor party, to my chagrin, I met aniex-Yale Bulldog. resolution sanctified by innumberable brews! I would discover the Harvard Crimson!

I knew it would be a long, hard search. And yet, I knew I could never rest until I had come face-to- ...whatever it was. That amorphous, nebulous being, already years old, the essence of Harvard, was what I sought.

After 200 years, I figured the Crimson was probably in some rest home for aged hues. Undaunted, I started my search on 14 Plympton Street--home of the present Harvard Crimson. No luck!

I checked the Crimson's genealogy. I sent a letter to Alabama, in care of "The Crimson Tide." No response!

I searched University Hall, Massachusetts Hall, Quincy House, and Widener Library. There wasn't even a reference card!

Then I went to the Science Center. Perhaps the Crimson had been synthesized and held captive by some Chem 20 nerd who hated football games. Not a chance!

A frightful thought shook me! What if the Crimson had been buried in the rubble of Dillon Field House this summer. And no one had seen him.

Daniel Steiner '54 wouldn't comment on him! Archie Epps said he wouldn't let him utilize Harvard's name! Dean Rosovsky claimed the Crimson couldn't become part of the Core! The Faculty refused to give him tenure! President Horner claimed the Crimson was a she! President Bok said he wouldn't make any more mistakes, and vowed not to name a library in the Crimson's honor.

It seemed like a huge cover-up. No one in the administration seemed to give a damn No one had seen him, few people even had an inkling of what he looked like.

So, I simply sat down and thought. Where had I seen the Crimson? I was almost sure he was present in 1974 when Harvard beaf Yale, 19-13, in the final seconds of the season to claim a share of the Ivy title.

The Game

I can almost remember seeing him 1975 at the Yale Bowl when Mike Lynch kicked the field goal to win the championship outright.

And he was absolutely at the Boston Garden two years ago when Harvard won the Beanpot. Sometimes I think I've seen him at the IAB, certainly he was there when the basketball team beat Penn last year.

Yet there's something about the Crimson I can't put my finger on. He's not found in attendance figures, athletic scholarships, or pep rallies. At Watson Rink, he can't be found at all.

But he is growing somehow. At Blodgett Pool, the ITT, and especially among Radcliffe students. I hear Crimson catchwords much more often.

What's In A Name?

However, the Crimson cannot be captured in words or in substance. He doesn't seem to exist according to the administration or the Faculty. Even the student body rarely seems moved by his spirit.

Still, I've seen him once or twice--in the nets, on the field, in the locker room, and on the ice.

But I've given up trying to find a physical "Crimson" because I realize he doesn't exist. He can't be put in the zoo like lions, panthers, bruins, or bulldogs. Nor does he don the static characteristics of Spartans, Patriots, Sooners, or Cornhuskers.

The Crimson isn't as commercial, professional, or Godlike as the Big Eight, the Pac 10, or the Big Ten--especially Ohio State.

So, what or where is the Crimson? I guess it only exists "for some of the people, some of the time." Except in New Haven.